You Can't Escape The Past

The Breaking Point

,,Make it stop." He repeated over and over again, eyes closed shut.

,,Make it stop make it stop make it stop- Make it stop!"

Rolling on his bed. Sweaty. Scratching his arms, drawing blood. This is what he got for ignoring the growing pain, all the warning signs he overlooked. He wasn't strong, he was an idiot- an utter idiot, trying to make himself function. There's only so much pressure one can handle. This was it- the breaking point.

It was three in the morning. Dazai was trying to not be too lound, he couldn't let any one hear him like this, no way.

Tears were streaming down his face, nose runny. It was hard to breath. He tried desprately to not make a single noice, but that just was not possible.

Suddenly, he sprung up, stumbling to the bathroom and falling to his knees before the toilet. He had made it just in time.

Choking on his vomit, he cried out in pain. Was this going to happen often? If so, there's no way he could go on any longer.

After throwing up everything he could, Dazai sat down, still holding the toilet seat, his grip as strong as he could manage.

This is pathetic, isn't it? The man who murdered, totured and hurt so many people, crying on the bathroom floor, all because he didn't want to show up to work.

But it was deeper than that. The fact that he had to go to work in less than three hours was just a tiny portion of it. It was the last straw however. There was no way he could face others in just a few hours. His eyes were red, swollen from all the tears, he couldn't even open them properly.

He didn't cry often, almost never. That was the problem. He could stub his toe and completly break down. If someone blocks and ingnores their emotions, they have no way to predict when they might get overwhelmed.

I deserve this; Dazai kept trying to not think that. What good does pity do? He did deserve this, all of it, but he didn't have the right to take pity on himself. It felt like all the things he didn't care about got to him.

The thought of Kunikida saying that he does no work made him tear up again. How could that effect him so much was truly a wonder. He quickly shot his head back, looking at the ceiling to stop the inevitable. It's no use. He could feel his chin shake, wanting to scream so much, but he couldn't, he had to stay silent, not wanting Atsushi to ask him any questions later.

Why didn't he do it? He had a pistol after all. It wasn't the agency, they could manage. It wasn't Atsushi, he would get over it. Besides, all of that meant nothing to Dazai. He was selfish, he knew.

Did he have any regrets? Yes; so many. But that's nothing he could fix. And in death, one does not care about what he did, he is dead after all.

Dazai opened his mouth to take a sharp breath in, smacking his hand over it quickly to stop the whimper from escaping. If this is the state he was in after a mere argument with Kunikida- what would he do when real problems arrive, when the city is threatened. He didn't know how, but he had to pull himself together. There's no room for error in his line of work.

Water. He needed water.

Slowly, he stood up. His head was spinning, but he tried to ingore it and moved foward. Supporting himself on anything he could reach, he got to the kitchen. He grabbed a dirty glass on the counter.

It slipped through Dazai's fingers and shattered on the floor.

Was this on purpose? Did he have something to prove? Dazai had no answer to that. He grabbed another, moving to the sink.

The pain of the glass sharts stabbing his feet was way worse than any he has ever experienced, but it was nothing; nothing and everything at the same time.